


(a perfect ten, i want to) get in

by lipgallagher



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Mild Feminization, Recreational Drug Use, Warning: Billy Hargrove
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-01 23:28:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15784326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipgallagher/pseuds/lipgallagher
Summary: Even though Billy has all of this slut-red lipstick painting a ring around his cock, Harringtonstilllooks like more of a mess than he does.Most of the lipstick has been rubbed off of his lips, smeared across his cheeks, over his chin, but it's kind of hard to tell, because Billy fucked that mouthsogood, it might be red and swollen and pouty as hell fordays.Down on the floor, between Billy's legs, Harrington mumbles, "Stop fuckinglookingat me like that."ALTERNATIVELY: that time lana del rey tweetedDo U Know How Expensive It Is To Look This Cheap.ALTERNATIVELY, REDUX: billy hargrove doesnt believe in relationships.





	(a perfect ten, i want to) get in

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecopperkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecopperkid/gifts).



> 1 this fic is unrelated to the first fic in this series? i think im just more likely to post things if i feel like i have somewhere to Put them? idk. im trying it out.  
> 2a this fic isnt my fault at all. i was Innocently talking about how billy might take steve with him when hes buying more cologne bc hes Gross and then SOMEONE was like right sure and steve is looking at all of the highlighters wondering what they would Look Like On Billys Chest. so...its really not my fault.  
> 2b i am SO sorry about it, though.

**2013**

Billy only got out of bed to splash some water on his face, and maybe grab a blunt out of his car, but he got distracted _pretty_ fucking fast, so it's about four minutes later when he comes back, grinning, licking his lips, like, "I didn't know you fucked like _this_ , Harrington."

Harrington's spread out on his bed, with his head hanging off the edge, like he fucking _wants_ Billy to fuck his throat. 

Again.

Like he wants it _again_.

Even _Billy_ can't get it up that fast, though, so.

He's just going to have to ignore it.

"Man, what are you _talking_ about?" When Billy holds the bottle up by his face, Harrington rolls over, props his head up on his elbows, yawns, "That's my _mom's_ , dumbfuck. Go put it back."

"You trying to tell me what to _do_ , now, pretty boy? Haven't we _talked_ about that?"

They _talked_ about it two weeks ago, out by the Byers' place, and no one's memory is _that_ bad, but maybe Harrington's _is_ , because he looks like he might try to hit Billy in the face, again.

Billy thinks he might let him do it.

_Only_ tonight, though, and.

Only if Harrington does something for Billy, _first_.

 

 

 

 

Harrington's not really a lightweight. 

He's _not_ , and he's _also_ not really gay, but he  _still_  hooks up with Billy after every session of basketball practice, so.

Two days after Harrington says _go put it back_ , and _no fucking way, asshole_ , and _God, you're so fucking messed up, just, like, get outta my house, already_ , he's only a _little_ drunk, he's only a _little_ stoned, but he's _all over_ _Billy_ , kissing his neck, moaning like a bitch, giving in, " _Okay_ , listen, Hargrove, _fine_ , like.  _Whatever_ , but just a _little bit_ , okay? It's seriously _not_ mine; my mama's gonna _kill_ me."

Billy rolls his eyes. 

He's _met_ Harrington's mother.

She's, like, _freakishly_ hot, for an older woman, like.

_Angelina Jolie_ level hot. 

She's  _way_ too classy for the trashy shit Harrington was hiding underneath all of his hair products. 

_Harrington_  is a Grade A slut, though, so.

Billy can see _him_ in scarlet lipstick and glitter.

Billy's not sure what the glitter stuff is fucking _for_ , but Harrington has four different kinds of it, so.

Billy's going to have fun finding out.

 

 

 

 

"Have you, like, never even been in the same fucking _room_ as a girl, doing her makeup, before? You. You need a brush, that's. That's _bronzer_ , okay? You need a _brush_." Harrington's hands are twitching nervously where they're spread out on Billy's back, and it's _annoying_ , but Billy doesn't see how they're going to be able to do this if _Harrington_  is on top of _him_ , and he doesn't trust Harrington to stay still if they just, like, stand in front of his bathroom mirror. That's why he pushed Harrington into one of the armchairs in the living room and got on top of him, in the _first place_ , like. Just for  _practicality_. "Man, I am _too_  fucked up to play Pretty Pretty Princess with you—"

"What the fuck? Are you even speaking _English_ to me?" 

"It. You don't. It's a _game_? For _kids_?"

"Oh, it _sounds_ like a game," Billy agrees easily. "Like, I don't know how _comfortable_ I'd feel playing it with a _kid_ , Harrington, but that's just _me_ , like. Maybe I'm an idiot, who _knows_ —"

"You _totally_ fucking _are_ —"

" _Hey_.Watch your _fucking_ mouth. Tilt your head back."

"But you don't know what you're _doing_ —"

And it's a _shame_ , but it _is_ true, so Billy points out, "No one's here to  _see_ you, except for _me_. Let me do what I want."

It takes a minute, but Harrington tips his head back, lets Billy start coloring over his mouth, and it actually looks a lot more pink than red, but it's still dark enough to make Harrington's mouth look plump and sweet and tempting, and Harrington hasn't let Billy take it all the way, yet, and.

Billy's _never_ been great at self-restraint. 

Like he didn't notice it before, like this is brand new information, Billy adds, "Label says this color's called _Cherry Picking_."

Harrington reminds him, sounding _very_ unimpressed, "I can _still_ kick you outta here, man."

 

 

 

 

Even though Billy has all of this slut-red lipstick painting a ring around his cock, Harrington _still_  looks like more of a mess than he does.

Most of the lipstick has been rubbed off of his lips, smeared across his cheeks, over his chin, but it's kind of hard to tell, because Billy fucked that mouth _so_ good, it might be red and swollen and pouty as hell for _days_.

Down on the floor, between Billy's legs, Harrington mumbles, "Stop fucking _looking_ at me like that."

He's a _mess_ , but _goddamn_ if he doesn't look good, sat at Billy's feet, _obviously_ hard in his briefs, just fucking _waiting_ for Billy to tell him what to do next. 

The lamp by the side of the chair is still on, so the light is catching on the few spots of glitter tucked in by the left side of Harrington's mouth, when Billy licks his lips, leans forward, works a hand through Harrington's hair.

"Now,  _what_  was that game you didn't want to play with me?"

"What? I. Shut _up_."

Harrington's blushing, and, _honestly_ , Billy can't believe Harrington _has_ enough blood left in him to do it, at all, because his cock looks like it's just _that_ fucking hard.

"You got me  _loving_ all of this princess shit, _King_ _Steve_."

" _Hargrove_ , shut the _fuck_ _up_."

"You look so fucking  _pretty_."

"Shut  _up_ ," Harrington groans, gnaws at his lower lip, looks  _deliciously_ torn between getting up to leave and staying right here, letting his skin go all tacky with come and lipstick and _bronzer_ , listening to Billy tell him how pretty he is.

Billy's never actually felt _thankful_ on Thanksgiving before, but he's sure as hell feeling thankful _tonight_.

He's thanking _God_ for giving them an empty house to screw around in, for letting him get away with it when he asked Dad if he could skip out on having dinner with him and Susan and Max, for making Harrington lonely and insecure and vulnerable enough to let Billy do this to him. 

He stands up, then gets down on the floor with Harrington, tries to sound more disinterested than he is when he asks, "What do you want, baby?"

 

 

 

 

 **2017**

Billy's back in Hawkins for less than a day when Steve Harrington calls him up.

Billy doesn't know why they have to do this shit every time he's in town, but they apparently fucking _do_ , even though Max said, at lunch, _and Steve has a boyfriend, now. Did you know he was gay? We didn't, but, like. I guess he is. Dustin's been pissed off, 'cause, like, Steve didn't tell him, and they're supposed to be blood brothers, like. They didn't bleed, you know, 'cause that's too gross, but they did a spit handshake and he thought that meant Steve had to tell him all his secrets_ , when she was catching him up on Hawkins gossip, like Billy _asked_ , like Billy _cared_ , like Billy could _ever_ fucking care who Harrington's putting out for. 

He doesn't fucking care, but his phone rings, and he ignores it, and his phone rings, and he ignores it, and his phone rings, and he ignores it.

So, Billy has a new message, and he has a new message, and he has a new message. 

Out of his phone's tinny little speakers, Billy has Harrington singing into his voicemail, "Billy, Billy,  _Billy_ , baby,  _listen_ , babe. You're back, right? Wanna come by my place? I'll be _so_ good for you, baby; I'm  _not_  gonna waste your time, I  _promise_."

Billy hits 7 to delete the message.

And Harrington sings, "I  _swear_ , like. When you pull my hair, I'm gonna pretend like I  _actually_  fucking like it, or whatever, and, um.  _Oh_! Yeah, okay,  _and_ , like, I'll do that thing, for you, where it's not like I  _don't_ have a gag reflex, 'cause you're always like,  _fuck, King Steve, that's just a porn thing, sometimes I wanna see you choking on my cock_ , and!  _Baby_ , I fucking  _will_ , okay, I'mma do  _whatever you want_ , if you come over, tonight, Billy,  _please_."

Billy hits 7 to delete that message, too.

And Harrington sings, "Or I could eat you out, like you like? You, like, fucking _love_ to pretend you _don't_ , except I  _know_ you, baby, and I  _like_ doing that, but  _just_ for you, just 'cause you're  _so_ hot, Billy. You know, I have  _dreams_ about your thighs, and everything I wanna  _do_ to _—_ "

Billy deletes  _that_ one,  _too_ , but.

Harrington doesn't say  _baby_ that much, not even when he's lit as fuck, so he was  _clearly_ just trying to manipulate Billy, and it was an embarrassingly  _sloppy_ attempt at manipulation, and.

And Billy  _is_ pressing Call, because it fucking  _worked_. 

 

 

 

 

Billy _knows_ he can get out of the house tomorrow, but, tonight, he's not leaving unless he _wants_ a fight with Dad, and he fucking _doesn't_.

A nicer guy would admit that, and let Harrington call up somebody else, like his actual fucking _boyfriend_ , maybe, but Billy's _not_ that guy, so.

He keeps Harrington on the phone for thirty-two minutes, lets him beg for it, ends up teasing,  _where do you want it, baby? Should I come in your mouth? Want me to come in that pretty fucking mouth?_

And Harrington's voice is low and breathy and hot like fucking _lava_ when he groans out, _yes, please, yes, yeah, yeah, Billy, I want it, fuck, just come over, Billy, please_ , and Billy _can't_ , but he doesn't say so, because he has to hang up, because Dad's knocking on his door, telling him it's dinnertime, sounding like he's _already_ pissed off.

Billy's still hard, but there's really no time to _do_ anything about it, so.

He's up, he's out of bed, he's texting, _sry bb see you tmrw night_

 

 

 

 

Billy likes repeat sex.

He likes getting to know what somebody likes, because he likes feeling like he delivered an A+ performance instead of just, like, a _B_ , because B's are _offensive_ , like.

He's _always_ been an A student.

But Billy has a naturally abrasive personality, and _that's_ hard for other people to put up with, no matter _how_ good the sex is, so, he doesn't do well in relationships, and he has a few semi-regular friends with benefits, except they aren't really _friends_ , they're just people who swiped right on Tinder, one time, and haven't built up the courage to tell Billy to fuck off, yet.

He has _them_ , and then he has _Harrington_ , when he has to come back to Hawkins, and Harrington is the cream of the fucking crop.

The makeup thing was just a one-time deal, he _never_ let Billy do that again, but Billy wasn't that into it, _anyway_ , so that was _fine_ , and, like. 

Harrington just  _gets_ Billy.

Like, okay,  _sometimes_ , Billy likes to cuddle, except most of the time he doesn't, and _sometimes_ , Billy likes to bottom, except there are _definitely_ times when he doesn't, and _sometimes_ , Billy likes a slow relaxing _it's the end of the day, sit back, let me take care of you_ blowjob, except.

 _Whatever_ , so, yeah, maybe  _sometimes_ , Billy likes feeling like somebody's about to choke to death on his dick, and that's a  _totally_ normal thing, it's not even a  _kink_ , it's just a primal instinct sort of thing, but. 

 _Some_ people get weird about it, and.

Harrington _never_ does.

That's all, though.

Billy's not, like,  _into_ Harrington.

It's not  _like_ that.

Harrington pretends to like it when Billy pulls his hair, and he drools around Billy's dick, and he lets his throat work all hard and fast and desperate until Billy comes.

When Harrington's phone rings, he just makes this annoyed face, turns it off, crawls on top of Billy, like, "So, _what_ do I gotta do to get you to suck my cock?"

Billy rolls his eyes.

Right now, sitting like this, he could probably just shove his dick into Billy's mouth, but Harrington always wants to fucking _work_ for it, and Billy has _no idea why_. 

He's not above taking advantage of it, though.

"Want to see you eat something for me, like. Something _slutty_. Like. You know those huge cinnamon rolls they sell at the mall?"

"You know, Billy, I usually _really_ support people getting to, like, check out _whatever_ porn they want, like. You're not _hurting anybody_ , so. Do whatever you _want_ , but it's, like. With _you_ , sometimes? I think somebody's _gotta_ monitor your wi-fi, like _—_ "

" _Hey_ ," Billy snaps. "Do you _want_ to come in my mouth?"

" _Yes_ ," Harrington mumbles. " _Please_."

" _Great_ , so. A cinnamon roll, with, like, a _gallon_ of that thick sticky icing on top, and you're gonna lick it off your fingers, for me, nice and slow, like it's the _best thing_ you've _ever_ _—_ "

" _Fine_."

"At the _mall_. In _front_ of people."

" _Wait_ _—_ "

"You want to _come_ , don't you, baby?"

"That's not _fair_ , Hargrove, you can't _do that_ _—_ "

"King Steve, I can do _anything I want_." Billy reminds him, "I don't _owe_ you anything. I can fucking _leave—_ "

And it _shouldn't_ be that easy, it wouldn't be so easy with _anyone else_ , but Harrington's already going, " _Don't_ , no, come _on_ , fine, I'll _do_ it, okay? _God_ , you're the fucking _worst_."

 

 

Harrington is passed out in bed when Billy wakes up at one-thirty, and he's _still_ passed out when Billy gets out of the shower at one-fifty, but he wakes up when Billy's picking through his hair products at two.

" _Hargrove_ , when're you gonna learn about, like. _Boundaries_?"

Billy rolls his eyes. " _Never_ , bitch. Where's your scrunchies?"

"Uh. My _what_?"

"I need a. Like, a hair band," and Billy gestures to his hair, where it's still wet enough to start turning the shoulders of his shirt transparent in a way that really fucking _works_ , actually, but is going to get irritating if he has to deal with it for much longer, and his hair takes _forever_ to dry, so. "Gotta do my hair." 

" _Hey_ , if I _wanted_ to get outta bed to somebody bitching at me about their _hair_ , I'd fuck a _girl_ ," Harrington's like, but he nuzzles at Billy's neck, bites down on a mouthful of the T-shirt covering up Billy's shoulder, gropes around in a drawer under the sink until he finds a brand-new sleeve of elastic hair ties.

Billy picks out three of the blond-beige ones, then drops it back into the drawer, starts separating out his hair, yawns, "Trying to pussy out on me, Harrington? You getting ready, or what?"

"I'm _ready_ , man."

Billy narrows his eyes. "You _just_ got out of bed. I _just_ saw you."

"Yeah? So?"

" _So_ , how fucking hot do you think you  _are_? Even _I_ put in some fucking effort if I'm going somewhere _—_ "

" _Even I_ ," Harrington scoffs. He watches Billy in the mirror for a few seconds, then turns to check himself out, instead, like, "I guess I can go...wash my _face_ , or. Or...something?"

"You seriously just go _out_ like that?"

Harrington shrugs. "Do my, like. _Eye circles_ look ugly, or do I _just_ think that 'cause you made me look _right at them_ , for, like, the past _five minutes_?"

It's _literally_ been a minute and a half, at the fucking _most_ , since this asshole got out of bed. 

Billy's not even going to _pretend_ to feel bad for Harrington.

He's _not_.

Harrington raises his eyebrows, looks expectant, and something like anxious, and a little bit like he might just go back to bed, so.

"Jesus, _stop_ _it_. You look _fine_."

" _Really_?"

Billy spits, irritably, " _Yes_ , dumbass." 

 

 

 

 

Because he's an asshole who wants to cheat Billy out of his well-earned prize, Harrington bitches, _look, man, I'm hungover_ , and _I'm tired_ , and _you fucked me, like, three times last night, I'm fucking hungry_ , as he eats an entire cinnamon roll in, like, thirty-seven seconds. 

He _does_ lick his fingers clean.

He's a good sport about that part.

Still, Billy's like, flatly, "This is a robbery."

It is.

Billy is _really_ fucking annoyed.

It took thirty minutes to find a parking spot, and there's basically  _nothing_ to do, around here, but it's Black Friday, so the mall is _swarming_ with screaming preteens and arguing older couples and townies in ugly clothes.

And Harrington  _just_ ate, that's the _cause_ of Billy's current state of rage, but he still wants to know, "Hey, can we hit DQ? I want a Blizzard. _You_ want a Blizzard?"

Billy _doesn't_ want a Blizzard, and he doesn't really want Harrington to eat one, _either_ , because Harrington _did_ seem a little drunk, when Billy came over, last night, and he _still_ hasn't thrown up, so that means he might puke, at, like, _any second._

Dairy Queen is right across from Sephora, though, and the Sephora near campus doesn't stock Paco Rabanne, and Billy _really_ needs a new bottle, so.

Needs must.

 

 

 

 

Maybe the Cinnabon thing should have reminded him, but Billy _always_ forgets about Harrington having a mouth like a goddamn vacuum cleaner until he _physically_ has Harrington's lips wrapped around his cock. 

Since food isn't allowed in the store, Billy thinks he probably has another ten minutes to himself.

At first, he's planning on using them to flirt with the checkout girl, but then she slips a few extra free samples into his bag, and it's _over_ , because, like.

Mission accomplished.

When he glances around the store on his way out, Billy catches sight of Harrington, standing over by the Fenty Beauty display, eyeing this shimmery gold stuff Billy wouldn't know what the fuck to do with. 

Billy heads over there, forces a kiss onto Harrington's sticky-sweet-soft ice cream laced lips, presses up behind Harrington when he asks, "Do you want that?"

"Um, _no_?! God, I.  _Jesus_. No!"

There's no point in Harrington having some dramatic gay panic just for _Billy's_ sake, because, like.

Billy already fucking _knows_  that Harrington is screwing around with some guy, and he _knows_  that Harrington likes looking pretty, and he _knows_ that Harrington has gotten off covered in lipstick and glitter and come, before.

He _knows_ that, because it was _Billy's fucking come_ , so this is  _ridiculous_ , like.

If he _wants_ the fucking makeup, Harrington should just _say so_ , because.

Well.

"They have a points-based rewards system, here, and I fucking _want_  your thirty-five points, _so_..." 

Harrington rolls his eyes. "I _don't_ want that; I don't fucking _wear makeup_."

"Are you _sure_?" Billy raises his eyebrows. "What about those dark circles you were bitching about _—_ "

"Hey, _princess_ ,fuck you! I, like, never even _noticed_ those until you took a _billion_ _years_ to braid your fucking _hair_!"

The store is loud and busy and crowded, but people are _still_ starting to look at them like they're being weird, so.

_Whatever_.

Billy fucking  _tried_.

He lifts his left wrist up to Harrington's face, like, "Smell that. It's _good_ , right?"

Harrington shrugs, finally relaxes enough to lean back against Billy's chest, mutters sulkily, "I _guess_ , I don't know. You buy it, already?"

Billy grins, winks, makes sure to let his lips force out a low wet pop of a noise when he's like, " _Yep_."

 

 

 

 

Like he thinks he's Billy's fucking _girlfriend_ , Harrington spends the entire drive back to his house chewing Billy out about how _it's dumb as shit for you to fucking ask me if the stuff you're gonna rub all over your dick before you shove your dick in my fucking mouth smells good, when you, like, already bought it, and you know what, like? It's fucking dumb, and, like, gross that you do that, at all? What if I got allergies, man?! You want me to have a, like, actual fucking seizure when I'm getting you off?!_

Billy lets him bitch, because, _yeah_ , he doesn't really see Harrington too much, these days, but he _still_ remembers how to tune him out until his voice just turns into white noise.

He probably _would_ like Harrington seizing up around his cock, anyway.

Like, it would obviously suck if Harrington _died_ , because Billy would go to prison, and he's too fucking  _pretty_ for prison?

It would be a fucking _spectacular_ blowjob, though.

 

 

 

 

Billy almost can't believe it, but Harrington acting like he thinks he's Billy's boyfriend is actually _worse_ than getting the girlfriend experience.

He puts up with it for an hour and a half, gets semi-stoned and eats cold Domino's pizza straight out of the box while Harrington plays GTA next to him on the couch, but then he decides that he is  _way_ too bored for this shit, so.

Billy gets up to leave. 

Maybe Billy should have dated more girls back in high school, back when he had the _time_ for that, back when it would have been _easy_ , because he would probably have a better grip on Harrington, now, because, immediately, he's hearing,  _hey, no, come on, wait, please? Sit down_ , and he's hearing,  _I'm sorry, babe, I thought you were having a good time_ , and he's hearing, _gimme, like, ten more minutes, but then I'll ride you, like you like?_

That last part is what trips him up, because.

Like _Billy_ likes?

What, now Billy's supposed to pretend that Harrington _doesn't_  always come as _soon_ as he's taken every inch of Billy's cock, even when he's whimpering about how it's too fucking  _big_ for him, like that's really a thing, _too_ _big_.

" _You_ like it."

And he's not leaving, not _now_ , not when Harrington's going to give it up like the slut Billy _knows_ he is, because that's what Billy's fucking _here for_ , because.

Fine, okay?

_Fine_.

Billy _still_ hates Indiana, he _still_ hates Hawkins, and he doesn't _have_ to come back here every time school's out, like.

The _only_ reason Billy _ever_ comes back to Hawkins is to get Steve Harrington on his dick. 

"Yeah." Harrington admits, in a hush, " _Yeah_ , I. I _really_ like it, Billy." 

 

 

 

 

The thing about being with Harrington in high school was that it wasn't _just_ sex. 

It wasn't a _relationship_ , but after that whole thing on Thanksgiving, they settled into this routine where Billy would come over after practice, and they would fuck around, and sometimes Billy would go home, when they were done.

But, _sometimes_ , they would drive two towns over to pick up cheap weed from this girl Gracie-Beth, then park Harrington's car out by the quarry to fuck around some more, and that old song _Good Girls Go Bad_  always seemed to be playing on the radio, on those nights, catchy and quick and annoyingly on the nose, like, _you heard that I was trouble, but you couldn't resist_.

And, _sometimes_ , they would watch bad TV with the sound turned up loud, because Harrington's parents were rarely at home, so it was like having their own house, where they could do whatever they wanted, like fuck on the kitchen table, and eat Popsicles at midnight in the swimming pool, and make out in the hallway, slow and sleepy and sweet, when Billy had to leave, in the morning.

It _wasn't_ a relationship, but they kept it up until Billy left for college, and.

Maybe it sort of fucking _was_ a relationship, and maybe _that's_ why he's so bad at relationships, now.

Harrington  _spoiled_ him.

And maybe Harrington's thinking about all of that, again, too, because he spent the entire afternoon doing an _awful_ job of pretending to be Billy's boyfriend, but now he says, _okay, but, listen, let's stay downstairs, 'cause I wanna watch the Kardashians for a minute_ , and he says, _here, lay down, let me, like. Yeah, I wanna get on top of you, a little bit, come on, don't make it weird_ , and he says, _I still can't believe you like Khloe better than Kylie. I'd, like, die for Kylie; she's my girl_.

 

 

 

 

They make it through three episodes before Billy stops silently rolling his eyes and just demands, "What reason even _is_ there to _like_ her?"

"Who?"

"Kylie Jenner."

"Uh, I don't know." And he wants Harrington to just fucking _admit_ that he only likes her because she's hot, except. "She makes good lipsticks, I guess." 

"Nah, I fucking _hate_  that kiss-proof stuff, it always, like. _Drags_ over your cock. I like a smoother ride, you know?" 

Harrington's face is resting on Billy's chest, so Billy can't see him, but he definitely fucking _hears_ it when Harrington laughs, "Oh, you need a  _smooth ride_ , Hargrove? _Fuck_ , I _can't_. I'm. Who the hell  _are_ you?"

 

 

 

 

This particular rerun of  _Keeping Up With The Kardashians_ ends on Kim _actually_ making it to some photoshoot that everyone thought she might _not_ make it to, as if LA traffic's ever really been _that_ bad.

Billy turns the TV off before Harrington can trap him into watching the next episode, because it's a _seriously_ addictive show, and Billy doesn't want to lose track of the entire fucking night.

Harrington kills all the lights downstairs, checks the lock on the front door, meets Billy on the staircase, and it's all still _exactly_ like high school, but it's _not_. 

In high school, Harrington was a good kid.

He just didn't like staying home alone, so he invited Billy over to his place a little more than he probably should have, let Billy talk him into a lot of dumb shit that he probably shouldn't have, gave Billy whatever he wanted, like on that one night when Billy wanted to fuck him on the stairs, went, _yeah, ride that dick. You think I'm letting you go? Gonna put that pretty ass to work. You're staying right here, baby_ , even though, in hindsight, they were both _really_ wasted, that night, and Harrington could have fucking _died_ , if he fell on the stairs, especially because Billy _knows_ he wouldn't have, like, called the fucking _cops_ , so. 

Yeah, Harrington was _dumb_ , but he was still a good kid.

_Now_ , Billy palms over Harrington's dick, licks his lips when Harrington moans, starts to tuck his hand into Harrington's pocket before he realizes there's something blocking his way. 

"Holy _fuck_."

"Okay, _wait—_ "

"Did you fucking _steal_ this?"

Harrington sighs. " _Listen_ , I just didn't want you making _fun_ of me _—_ "

"Oh my _God_ _—_ "

"I _didn't_ steal it! I went back for it when you went _—_ "

"Jesus, I _don't_ care," and he _doesn't_ , because he's busy working whatever the fuck this stuff is out of its little black box, and the label says the color is called _Trophy Wife_ , which is fucking _hilarious_ , so. "I'm just saying, though, I _need_ you to know that you're, like, the _trashiest bitch_ I've _ever_ fucked."

When he looks back up, Harrington's scowling at him, like, "Yeah, _listen_ , Hargrove, that sounds fake as all _shit_ , but _okay_."

 

 

 

 

Harrington's mom has this old-school silver-screen movie star style vanity mirror that Billy's always liked, but he doesn't really _mean_ to take things into Harrington's parents' room. 

Somehow, that's _just_ where they happen to end up.

The bedroom lights are off, the curtains are closed, but there's this dim sexy glow coming from the lights surrounding the mirror, when Harrington pushes Billy down onto the bench across from the table, pauses like he's not sure if he should sit next to Billy, or what, but the seat isn't really big enough for them to share it, so Billy pulls Harrington down over his thighs, grips tightly at Harrington's hips, licks his lips when he's like, " _Yo_ , your mom's _so_ fucking classy." 

She _is_. 

The vanity table is all Chanel and Lancome and, like, _five_ bottles of Le Labo perfume, except three of them are Santal 33, which Billy thinks is kind of excessive, but whatever.

Harrington's blushing, like he _already_ knows where this is going. 

Hell, maybe he _does_.

He seems like he's getting smarter, lately.

"Remember that lipstick you slobbered all over my dick?"

" _Hey_ , you, like, literally _forced me to put_ _—_ "

"Where'd you _get_ it? I mean, I _saw_ that shit, and it was cheap as _hell_ , so. You didn't get it from _here_."

Harrington glares at Billy in the mirror when he mutters, " _Walgreens_ , okay? It was, like, two bucks."

"Oh, _baby_ ," Billy coos, sucks a wet kiss into the side of Harrington's face, grins like he's trying to be mean about it, like it's _not_ the hottest thing in the world, like Harrington can't _feel_ him getting harder by the fucking _second_. "Two whole dollars, huh? _Really_ wanted to impress me?"

" _Shut up_."

"Wanted to look _pretty_ for me?"

"Jesus, fuck, _Hargrove_ _—_ "

"I'd fucking _pay_ to see you shop at Walgreens," Billy says, and that's _true_ , like. He can't believe Harrington even knows where Walgreens _is_. "How about you put on some of this _nice_ stuff, for me, though, baby? Just this  _one_ time."

"You said one time _last time_ _—_ "

" _Yeah_ , Harrington, and that was, like, _three years ago_ , so it basically _never_ happened."

There's a minute where he thinks Harrington's not going to go for it.

This is what he's going to say no to.

This is the challenge he's _not_ going to take.

But Harrington takes the challenge, because that's what he _always_ does, or.

That's what he always does for _Billy_. 

He reaches for a nearly-clear bottle of something that's riddled with gold glitter, like the fucked up lovechild of KY and Goldschläger, but the bottle is labeled _Yves Saint Laurent_ , so it's _probably_ expensive as hell, and here's Harrington, letting Billy waste it on what's almost _guaranteed_ to be fairly degrading sex, for him, so this is _already_ in the top five sexual experiences of Billy's life. 

The glitter is going to be annoying, because glitter _never_ fucking _dies_ , but Billy doesn't stop Harrington when he gets up, carefully perches on the table, leans forward to rub some of the glittery stuff over Billy's face, down the side of his neck, across his chest. 

"I'm doing yours, _then_ mine."

"I don't _want_ any."

"I don't _care_." Harrington lifts one of Billy's hands, twines their fingers together, ends up coating Billy's palm in slippery glittering gold that glides easier than any lube Billy's ever touched, as he explains, "It, like, makes the other stuff stay on better, if you wear this, first." 

"Now, _I_ thought you didn't _wear_ makeup," Billy smiles.

It's one of his rougher smiles, all slow and taunting and cruel, but Harrington doesn't seem like he minds it that much, not when he's absently saying, " _Look_ , I can ride you, _or_  give you head, but I'm _not_ doing both, so you should, like. Decide what you want."

Billy bets the glitter isn't _too_ obvious, but the stuff that's about to hit his skin looks like it's seriously just crushed-up  _gold_ , so he's annoyed before the brush even starts to dust over his collarbones, his cheekbones, over the arch of one of his eyebrows. 

He's _annoyed_ , but he's _not_ , because Harrington's looking at Billy like he just might end up doing both, tonight, after all.

He tugs at a random tube of lipstick, holds it out for Harrington to take, but Harrington ignores it, reaches for a different one, like, "Thought you liked a _smooth ride_ , Hargrove."

 

 

 

 

Harrington's mom is a bad bitch.

Weed is still illegal in Indiana, but the joint Harrington found in her vanity drawer when he was looking for lipliner is fucking  _loud_.

Billy's _so_ stoned that, for a second, he thinks about high school, again.

But this is _different_.

This time, Harrington went for this pale pink lipstick that Billy couldn't really see when it was on his mouth, but he can sure see it now that it's smeared all over Harrington's face, and all over Billy's cock, and pressed in an almost-careful kiss over Billy's left hip.

Billy fucking _hates_ washing his hair more than once a day, but he's going to need another shower, because there's more gold stuck to Billy's abs, and his arms, and  _everywhere the fuck else_ , like.

All he _got_ was Harrington trying to suck Billy's brains out through his dick, but Billy sure as hell  _looks_ like he just fucked his way through an _entire_ sorority.

Harrington looks good, though, down on the floor, covered in Billy's come, in Portrait Pink lipstick, in Trophy Wife highlighter, so.

Billy's living the fucking _dream_.

He doesn't realize he's forgotten about taking care of Harrington until Harrington stops staring greedily at Billy's dick like he wants some more, gets off the floor to get back on top of Billy, runs a hand down Billy's chest when he says, "This color's _so_ pretty on you, babe."

"Oh, yeah?"

Harrington nods earnestly. " _Yeah_."

Billy sneers, " _Trophy Wife_ looks _good_ on me?"

"Yeah," Harrington's like, biting his lip, looking fucking _adorable_ , adding, " _Everything_ looks real good on you."

This isn't the boyfriend routine. 

This is that girlfriend shit, again, but the _good_ part, the part where Billy gets compliments and gets to have a good time and gets everything he's ever wanted.

Billy's never wanted a girl, before, and he _still_ doesn't, not _really_ , but he suddenly doesn't get why straight guys think they get to _complain_ about anything, like. 

They have life _so_ fucking _easy_.

He lets go of the joint so Harrington can take a hit, licks his lips watching him smoke, starts, " _So_ , pretty boy. What's this shit I'm hearing about you having a boyfriend?"

Harrington coughs out, " _That's_. It's, like. _Um_. It's _not—_ "

"Is he taking care of you?" And _Billy_ thought it was an easy enough question to answer, because the guy isn't _here_ , Billy doesn't _know_ him, Billy's never going to _meet_ him, so it's not like he's ever going to _find out_ about this, but Harrington just blinks, slow and confused and dumb _._ "Is he as good as me?"

"Like...in _bed_?"

Jesus Christ.

" _Yes_ , Harrington."

"Uh, he's okay? Come _on_ , Billy, like. You're, like. That Drake song, man, you're, like. The best I ever had, or whatever. You _know_ that."

Billy _didn't_ know that, but he nods, kisses at Harrington's messy pink swollen mouth, breathes out on a lie, "I just like hearing you _say_ it, baby."

He's not really sure where to take this, now.

He's _done_ , like.

Billy doesn't think he's coming again tonight, or, at least, not for another couple of hours.

He should probably just suck Harrington's dick so he can leave.

He _should_ , but he's thinking about getting Harrington into his room, spreading him out on his stupidly huge bed, eating him out until his jaw gets a little tired, until his tongue starts feeling sore, because that's when it's going to feel like fucking _torture_ for Harrington, and _that's_ going to turn Billy on enough to go again.

"Does he eat you out, a lot?"

"Billy, come _on—_ "

"See, 'cause _I_ remember taking _real_ good care of that pretty ass, and I'm feeling a little _worried_ _—_ "

" _Oh my God_ _—_ "

"I don't need you breaking up with him, and coming to _me_ , like,  _crying_ about how you need me to _remind_ you _—_ "

"Christ, _Hargrove_ _—_ "

"If you need a _real man_ to eat that sweet little pussy, you gotta _say something_ , baby," Billy drawls, and Harrington whines like he does when he's riding Billy's dick, and that is just _too_ fucking hot. "You want me to eat you out?"

"Fuck, _Billy_ , yeah, _please_."

Sometimes, Billy's roommates get wasted and wax poetic about prom queens, head cheerleaders, beautiful girls back home who are hot and stupid and fucking _stupidly hot_ , like.

Girls they think they're going to fucking _marry_ , girls who are going to ride them the _second_ they come home from work every night, girls who are going to do _anything_ for them.

For the most part, Billy doesn't believe his roommates have ever even _talked_ to those girls, so it's usually hard for him to relate.

Right now, though, talking to Harrington like this, like he's a _girl_ , and not _just_ a girl, but a really fucking _dumb_ one, like, one that's _obsessed_ with Billy, would give him _anything_ just to get all of that sweet cute relationship shit?

_Maybe_ that's doing it for him, or.

Maybe it's because he was remembering all of those early-morning kisses by Harrington's front door, earlier, but.

Either way, Billy thinks he's feeling the vibe.

He tangles his fingers up in Harrington's hair, drags him in as close as he can, murmurs, "Come on, now, baby. _Tell_ me. What should I do?"

" _God_ , you're. I.  _Billy—_ "

"When's the last time he ate you out?"

"I. Never, we. We haven't _—_ "

"Haven't _fucked_ him, yet? Slut like you? _Bullshit_."

"No, we. We _did_ , just. Just. Billy, _listen_ , I don't wanna _talk about—_ "

" _I_ want to talk about it," Billy says, firmly. He's always liked having competition. "Like, what's _wrong_ with him? You have the _sweetest_ _—_ "

" _Okay_ , Billy _—_ "

"You used to _love_ it, used to fucking _beg_ me to lay you out, get at that pretty pink pussy _—_ "

"Okay, _stop saying—_ "

"He tell you about how pretty you are?"

" _Billy—_ "

"So, _no_ ," Billy guesses, around a grin, and maybe he shouldn't feel good about that, about handing Harrington over to some guy who doesn't appreciate him enough, but Billy feels _great_ about it, because Harrington  _is_ pretty, but he's needy, he's _so_ fucking needy that he's _already_ fucking around on this guy, so. They're not exactly a match made in heaven. They'll split up, soon. By the time Billy comes back for Christmas, Harrington should be single, again. "But you still fucking _know_ , don't you? You know how good you look?"

"I. I. Yeah."

"Oh,  _yeah_ , baby? How do you know?"

And Harrington looks annoyed, but he _also_ looks like this is some of the most charming shit that anyone's ever thrown at him, so.

"You're, like, _always_ telling me, man, come _on_."

"What, like  _I_ wouldn't lie to you, just to get a piece?"

Harrington looks a little unsure, at first, and.

Then, he bites his lip, shakes his head, explains, "You _like_ me too much."

Billy's not sure what world Harrington thinks he lives in. 

_Everyone_ lies to get laid, _even_ Billy, _even_ to Harrington, but.

He's right.

Billy wouldn't lie to him about that.

Billy knows he's supposed to tell Harrington how much he likes him, right now.

He _knows_ that, but Harrington _just_ said it, and he didn't say it like he was asking Billy to _confirm_ it, he said it like he just fucking _knew_  that it was true, like it was a basic fact of life, and Billy isn't going to be able to do better than _that_ , so.

He says, "Tell me you like it."

Harrington blinks, looks down at the hand Billy's resting on his thigh, glances back up at Billy, all dark thick lashes and blown out eyes when he's like, "I _like_ it."

"You like it when I...?"

"Oh my _God_ ," and Harrington sighs, shakes his head again, gives Billy this indulgent smile when he breathes, " _Fine_ , I. _Okay_ , Billy, I. I like when you _eat my pussy_." 

" _Yeah_ ," Billy grins. "You _do_."

 

 

 

 

"You ever put on makeup for your guy?"

Harrington pauses in stripping the sheets off of his parents' bed, just so he can shoot Billy this ridiculously confused expression when he's like, "Uh, _no_."

"Are you _going_ to?"

"No."

_No_.

That _shouldn't_ be hot, because it implies Harrington doesn't even _like_ that shit, and if he doesn't like it, then he _didn't_ want to do it for Billy. 

But he fucking _did_ do it for Billy. 

And Harrington's face is still a mess, pink and tired and still coated in dried-up come and makeup and sweat, so he looks a little like he just finished working at a particularly deranged circus, but Billy doesn't let that stop him from reaching out to tug him in for a kiss, before he goes, "That's just for _me_ , isn't it, King Steve? The girl shit? The _princess_ shit?"

"...yeah."

" _Yeah_ ," and there's a hopelessly proud smile spreading out across Billy's face, and he _can't_ make it stop. "And, like. If anybody ever makes you do anything you don't like, you're gonna _tell_ me, right?"

A girl would eat that up, the  _knight in shining armor_  act, the  _I'll kill anyone who hurts you_  act, the  _maybe you're with somebody else, but you're still mine_  act. 

Harrington just sighs, "I'm _not_. I'm not, like. _Fuck_ , listen, I'm not _like_ this with other guys, okay?"

Not with other guys, so.

Just with _Billy_.

That's that ride-or-die vibe, and _Billy_ gets to have it, and _no one else does_.

He can't fucking _believe_ that.

He _can't_ , but Harrington pushes, " _Okay_? I'm, like. I'm _serious_ , Billy, I. It's just _different_ , when it's you."

"Oh, yeah? Why?"

"I don't know? I just. I just _like_ you, I guess."

Billy's not good at relationships.

But this _isn't_ a relationship, it's _never_ been a relationship, so.

He leans in to kiss Harrington's cheekbone, sucks the skin clean, just right there, just that _one_ spot.

Once he pulls away and gets another look at Harrington, it's fucking _glaringly_ obvious how filthy Harrington looks, how fucking _filthy_ he looks because of _Billy_ , because he _let_ Billy do whatever he wanted to him, and. 

Billy's done.

For _real_ , this time.

"Let's go swimming."

The pool is heated, but Harrington _hates_ swimming, unless it's, like, _July_ , and he's sweating like a motherfucker, so Billy isn't surprised to hear Harrington offer, hopefully, "We could take a shower?"

"I don't know, baby. Showers are a lot of work."

_Billy's_ not going to fucking say it. 

If Harrington doesn't get there on his _own_ , Billy's going to leave him covered in come all night long.

He doesn't fucking _care_.

"Um. Wanna. Wanna have a _bath_ with me?"

And Billy _knows_ he does a horrible job of pretending that wasn't  _exactly_ what he was angling for when he hums, "I _guess_ ," but Harrington lets him have it, anyway.

Harrington would let him have _anything_.

Harrington fucking _likes_ him.

**Author's Note:**

> [talk to me on tumblr here!!!](http://rvstyryan.tumblr.com/)
> 
>    
> title from the classic tune _no diggity_ by blackstreet.


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